


FrUK (because I can't think of a title)

by eustassya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: But fruk wins fruk always wins, FrUK, Here's some trash I wrote, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I have no idea what I was doing, M/M, child!fruk, idk if this will continue but I will try?, possible fruk/usuk love triangle thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustassya/pseuds/eustassya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some trash I wrote.. 'The gradual relationship of England and France' would probably be a good summary? Idk tbh don't read this</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to the poor souls who are desperate enough to read my trash, here's some randomly inspired FrUK. Uh, the only thing I'll say is : I tried. Also that each chapter might be pretty shitty and very short. Hasta la pasta, people.

The first time I met him, I thought he was a girl. It wasn't until he told me about 'marrying pretty ladies' that I realised he wasn't. "I'm Gaul," he had said, smiling down at me with all the warmth I didn't have, eyes blue as the clear summer sky. I hid, and he laughed, and slowly we got to know each other. We had been happy, running through the fields and sitting under trees to watch the clouds and making flower crowns to place on our heads. The days were endless, bright sunshine and warm wind and his smiles and laughter and butterflies and bees. I had smiled, the fairies said, I had smiled and laughed a lot more when I was with him. But good things never last, I was soon to learn.

"The world, it doesn't end. Do you really think it will?" I had wondered, once, when they had announced the date. Back then, he had been Catholic. "You mean the Last Judgement?!" He had panicked, while I happily curled up in his arms. It was warm, the kind of warm that makes you drowsy, the air only slightly humid and the sun shining down on our faces, not burning, but not weak. A light breeze blew over the hill that we were sitting on, caressing our faces gently. "How can you be so calm?!" He had hugged me close, murmuring his strange language in my ear. I buried my face into his soft satin tunic, taking in the smell of flowers mixed with something sourish yet pleasant, fresh water, and freshly baked bread. I decided I liked this smell, falling asleep in the comfortable warmth of the sun, the scent of lilies and french countryside surrounding me. We had been young, back then, back when we had no obligations, no rulers, nobody to stop us from being together. But oh, how that changed. How it all changed.

It had happened one hot summer day, a few years after we met, when he didn't show up at our hill. "Gaul?" I had called out, looking around and towards the town he usually arrived from. There was no reply. After a while, I gave up, dejected, and climbed up the tree, falling asleep in the higher branches. I woke up to the sounds of horses and trumpets and the creaking of wooden wheels, a fancy-looking carriage coming towards the hill. The carriage door opened after a while, and he stepped out. Yet, at the same time, it didn't look like him. Those eyes, his clear blue orbs, were a darker shade, the shining innocence from before suddenly gone. His clothes had changed, from a simple blue tunic to more formal attire, a short sleeved pale yellow tunic laced with gold, covered with a purple velvet cloak that billowed about his ankles. He had changed his boots, from plain flats to heeled shiny leather that looked more fashion than practical. His hair was tied in a low ponytail, instead of flowing freely in the wind. It was Gaul, but not really. "Albion..?" he called out softly, like he was scared I would run away. He knew I was there, because this was his land, and anything that happened on his land he would know. I climbed down slowly, wary of the soldiers standing at the bottom of the hill, watching Gaul's every move. "W-what took you so long!" Instead of running to tackle him like I always did, I stayed by the tree, holding onto it tightly. For some reason, this Gaul had a slightly snobbish air around him, and a feeling of imminent danger gripped my veins. He seemed... disappointed. "I'm leaving today for Paris, it seems my people have set up a town there.. And I have a new name now, it is France. Farewell, my sweet Albion, may we meet again." He smiled, holding out his hands and bending down slightly as I ran to hug him. "I'll miss you.." I murmured, He didn't reply, instead letting go of me as he started to walk back down the hill, with not so much as a glance back. I watched as he got into the carriage, watched as the door slid closed, watched as it went down the road and towards the mainland, towards Paris, away from Calais, away from me and all the memories we had made together. He never even looked back.

I didn't cry. Not until I was back home, safe on the rocky shores watching as the overcast skies poured my tears into the muddy marshlands that made up my island. _He hadn't even looked back. Not a single wave, or a smile, or even a glance. It was like all those years of friendship had meant nothing to him._ The rain was cold, ice cold and soaking through my clothes and into my skin and pooling in my boots. Trudging back into my forest cottage in the slush created by the rain was no fun. Not even my fairies came out to greet me, I must have looked a right mess. I didn't cry, no, it wasn't like I was lonely without him. I would be fine on my own, like I had been all those years ago, before I had met him. I would be alright.


	2. The Second Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I have returned, my poor captive souls. Don't force yourself to read this k I don't really like this fic anyways

The next time I was reminded of him was a fleeting glimpse, wavy golden locks and porcelain skin, eyes blue like the sky had been those years ago, and it was gone. It was definitely him, the same smile, the same eyes, the same hair as all those years ago. As nations, we never really aged. Even I knew that by now. I had been wandering around the new market area, a place where people traded and sold things, mostly food, a place that would help my people start a life. By then, my people had already decided on leading roles and hierarchies, and I had been brought to London, where the palace was, at the heart of the country. I had not, unfortunately, forgotten about him; I still had a painting he had gotten back then, a small portrait of him for me to look at whenever I was lonely, for me to think about him. It was kept safely in a locket, hung on my neck my a gold chain, in case anything ever happened. I doubted he still had mine.

We had not seen each other for more than a century, despite being neighbours. Impossible? No. I had been caught up in the setting up of my towns and cities and castles and people, and so had he. There was no reason for us to meet, really. So much had changed over such a short period of time, he had made a new drink, I had heard, and I had been named England now, and I had heard tales of other nations, other countries, from across the seas, nations with skin brown like wood from life in the sun, and nations white like they had never even seen the sun, nations with purple eyes and red eyes and brown eyes and black. I wanted to meet them, wanted to talk to them, wanted to learn their languages. It had been a dream I had, back then. 

News came one day, news of the nation across the channel. My body was about fourteen, and I had been sitting in a bar with a newly-made friend when the subject came up. "Ever heard of France, m'boy?" He was an old man with a pot belly, sitting on the stool beside mine, a mug of warm ale in his hand. I nodded, sipping at my hot chocolate, looking up at him curiously. The man's name was Michael. His hair was what I liked to call 'whiting', the stage where your hair is mostly white, but with streaks of light and dark grey, when you look old but at the same time you have a trace of your youth. When your eyes are brighter than your smile, and your childhood dreams return to give you hope. He seemed more alive than dying. "I've been there, once, when I was your age. Beautiful, beautiful place, it is.. They call her the Pays de l'Amour, the Country of Love.." His face had crinkled into a gentle smile, leathery old skin lined with wrinkles and scars, long white hair tied in a low ponytail. "A beautiful place?" I murmured, thinking of the days when I would swim to the other shore, back when I was young. He laughed, quiet and hoarse, yet rich in the way old people laugh. "Yes, child, a beautiful place.. Ask your parents to bring you there, and you will understand.." A hand ruffled my hair, warm and big and loving. "France is a beautiful, beautiful place."

Eventually, I got to the palace; the King was in a frenzy, sending soldiers and guards out to search for me, fussing unnecessarily when I showed up at the gates in a civilian's clothes and munching on an apple. I was locked in my room for the next week, only allowed into the dining room for meals, with nothing to do. A month had passed by the time I remembered France again. "...a beautiful, beautiful place.." It was when I overheard the servants' gossip. "Where?" I asked. She was startled, glancing down at me in surprise before smiling warmly and checking that there was no one else to overhear. "A land over the Channel, I hear, it's filled with sunshine and flowers and fields... Her eyes had been bright with excitement, light brown hair falling over her shoulders. "They call it the Country of Love, France."

With rumours and whispers about the next-door country filling the palace, there came a time when I was thinking of France all day, of his sun and his flowers and his fields and his scent. It was emotional torture. Finally I decided to approach my King, my confidante and my closest friend, my ruler, and tell him of my plans. My plans to travel and search for my long-lost friend. It was time to rebuild the bridges that had suddenly disappeared. 

It was spring, as spring as my island could be, pathetic excuses of grass appearing in clumps out in the countryside. Rain pattered on the windowpanes, the sound comforting and rhythmic and lulling me to sleep. 'Tomorrow,' I decided, 'tomorrow I will ask.' I went to bed. Farewell, my sweet Albion, may we meet again. The last words he spoke to me, they were now fresh in my memory, the heat and the wind and the grass swishing and the sickly sweet smell of flowers that were wilting, his eyes those blue blue eyes, the carriage the road the guards, I was back, back in that place, all the memories- I woke up with tears streaming down my face.

"Edward?" I knocked on the library door. It was 4:30pm, when he would usually settle down with a cup of hot tea and a book. "Arthur? What is it?" The heavy oak door was pulled open, and I stepped in. "I want to go to France." He shook his head, picking me up despite my protests, and sitting down on the red velvet armchair. "Now why would you want to go to that horrid place?" He stroked my hair, smiling gently. "From what I hear, they eat snails and frogs there!" I gasped, staring up at him in horror. "Really?!" He nodded, grinning. I refused to so much as look across the Channel for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect too much commitment on my part for this fic, if I decide that it's trash and nobody reads it I'll just delete it or something.. Eh well. But since I aleady have some of the chapters written out, for now it'll be monthly updates until further notice. Ta.


End file.
